


with the words 'i love you' rolling off my tongue

by Lysippe



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff-A-Thon [17]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, day 17: snowed in, soft soft soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 04:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: “Well,” Pippa said, thoughtfully, and Hecate could feel the smile forming against her shoulder, “we always did take our time with things, didn’t we?”Theirs was a dynamic that never really changed, Hecate realized. The easy banter that came almost without thought; the closeness that they had always allowed one another, that Hecate had never allowed anyone else; the way Pippa, and only Pippa, never had to try and catch up with Hecate’s ever-churning brain, because she was always already there, always keeping pace where so few even bothered to try.





	with the words 'i love you' rolling off my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not behind in writing these, I'm literally just behind in posting them, so who knows what that says. I am nearing the end of the buffer that I had written for myself, so we'll see what the end of the month brings. I still have... five or six of these left to write? But I'm getting there, slowly. This is one of my softer ones, where I promise there's no angst, just a lot of snow.

The snowstorm had come seemingly out of nowhere. Hecate had watched the weather for a week, had very purposely arranged to fly out to Pentangle’s on a day where the skies were supposed to be clear, where the wind was minimal, and there was nothing anywhere in the forecast except for weather as pleasant as winter could bring. But one never could trust weather reports.

When the first flurries had started while she was still an hour out from Pentangle’s, Hecate had been a bit put out. She had never been a fan of any sort of inclement weather, but she had a special hatred of snow; of the way cold, wet flakes sat on cold, dry skin; the way i lay on the ground, oppressive, suffocating every living thing it touched. The way it made her heart sadder and her magic more volatile. The way she could feel her magic sparking at her nerve endings, begging to be put to use, begging to be let out of its cage, begging to be free, the way magic was never supposed to be.

And as strong a flyer as she was, flying in any kind of snow was never advisable, never pleasant, and certainly never safe. The snow had come down hard and fast, wind constantly threatening to blow Hecate off a course that became increasingly difficult to see with every passing moment. By the time she had managed to land herself on the outskirts of the school grounds, nerves frayed and fingers aching from clenching her broomstick a bit too tight, the light flurries had intensified into a full-on storm, and Hecate could only barely see the outlines of trees in the distance.

Hecate considered transferring, had even raised one gloved hand to perform the spell, but thought better of it. She was not  _ precisely _ certain where she was, much less where she was in relation to the castle. And as much as transferring was a specialty of hers - one gained through extensive practice and a strong disdain for the time that walking wasted - magic that could not be performed with the necessary precision was best not performed at all. And so, it was with immense frustration that Hecate vanished her broomstick, tucked her chin down against the wind, and set off in what she knew to be the general direction of the school. 

The walk itself took little more than five minutes. Hecate crossed the familiar path through the school grounds until she made her way into the courtyard. And the moment Hecate could see the school in clear view, she wasted no time in performing the transference spell that landed her immediately in the doorway to Pippa’s sitting room. Pippa, Hecate remembered at once, kept her rooms quite warm, the fireplace in the far wall always lit with flames that danced and licked at the air. It was lovely, and, on normal occasions, one of Hecate’s favorite parts of Pippa’s home.

She found herself much less enamored with it now, however, covered as she was in a thick enough dusting of snow to turn her grey coat white. The warm air was rapidly melting that snow, turning it first into globs of slush and then, more loathsomely, into puddles of water that sank through the layers of fabric protecting her, chilling Hecate straight to the bone in a matter of seconds. 

The shock of it all was jarring enough that it was Pippa, dressed in a soft pink robe, who performed the drying spell first. She rushed over to Hecate, bare feet padding quietly against the dark wood floor, but stopped short when she saw the rapidly melting snow in which Hecate was coated. With a quick wave and a silently mouthed spell, cool air brushed against Hecate’s skin, pulling the moisture from her hair, her cloak, her skin, and leaving her dry, but still shivering.

“May I?” Pippa asked, gesturing at Hecate’s now dry but still unpleasantly cold clothing with a wave of her hand that suggested she felt a change was in order.

Hecate nodded, more than ready for a change herself, though quite a bit less forward about saying so. However, when Pippa spelled her into a pink bathrobe to match her own, Hecate scowled. “Pippa,  _ no _ .”

Pippa only grinned cheekily at the force behind her words, and waved her hand again, spelling the robe black this time. “I did have a sneaking suspicion,” she said, “that, that might be a bridge too far for you.”

“And yet, you decided to do it anyway.”

Pippa shrugged. “Well, a witch never knows until she tries, now, does she? Now come with me and stop standing my doorway. It’s warmer over here.” She turned away, making her way across the room to the small, blush-colored loveseat by the fireplace, motioning Hecate to follow.

Hecate arched an eyebrow at Pippa’s back, but followed. “I believe in this case, you could easily have made an educated guess,” she said to Pippa’s back.

“I thought they discouraged educated guesses in potions.” Pippa stayed standing, and glanced at Hecate, then the couch, in turn.

“I seem to recall that never stopping you before,” Hecate remarked drily, seating herself gingerly on the loveseat, knowing Pippa was waiting for her to sit, to make herself comfortable before she herself settled in.

“Now, Hiccup,” Pippa said sweetly, seating herself not opposite Hecate, but right in the middle of the loveseat, pressed comfortably into Hecate’s side. Pippa’s warmth spread over her, smoothed over Hecate’s frayed nerves, calmed her still-erratic heartbeat. 

Hecate glanced over at Pippa, who had made herself quite comfortable against her shoulder. She could feel the whisper of a smile threatening to break on her lips. “Yes?”

“I _ know  _ you aren’t insulting my potion brewing abilities,” Pippa said meaningfully. “There was at least one instance in which I bested even the great Hecate Hardbroom herself in a potions exam.”

Hecate rolled her eyes. It was true, Pippa had managed to edge her out exactly once in potions. Hecate had come down with a nasty case of the flu, and had been sick in bed for the entirety of the revision period. Pippa’s perfect score had just barely edged out Hecate’s 97%, but Pippa had never let her hear the end of it, and, apparently, never would.

“You’re partially correct,” Hecate said mildly. She hesitated for only a moment, fingers clenching and unclenching in indecision, before hesitantly wrapping an arm fondly around Pippa’s shoulders. “I am not insulting the end result. But your process always did leave a bit to be desired.”

Pippa snorted. “It’s  _ possible _ I lack your exacting precision.”

“Indeed. Though I believe the words you used were ‘dull as dirt’ and ‘needlessly complicated.’”

“They may have been something along those lines.” Pippa’s tone was conciliatory, but wholly unapologetic. “Though I confess, I have… revisited those opinions since then.”

“And about time, too.” 

“Well,” Pippa said, thoughtfully, and Hecate could feel the smile forming against her shoulder, “we always did take our time with things, didn’t we?”

Theirs was a dynamic that never really changed, Hecate realized. The easy banter that came almost without thought; the closeness that they had always allowed one another, that Hecate had never allowed anyone else; the way Pippa, and only Pippa, never had to try and catch up with Hecate’s ever-churning brain, because she was always already there, always keeping pace where so few even bothered to try. 

And Hecate was struck by the domesticity of it all. By the vision of herself and Pippa, in matching-but-not-quite-matching fluffy bathrobes, absurd though they were, curled up by the fireplace, waiting out an unexpected snowstorm. Of Pippa, hair down in loose waves around her shoulders, so open and unguarded. It was soft in a way Hecate had never thought herself to be, quiet in a way she had never known. Pippa had always brought this out in her. Had always made her feel this way. 

Pippa felt warm, and comfortable, and right, and exactly the same way she had thirty years ago. The feeling of Pippa huddled against her here, was almost indistinguishable to Hecate from the memory of Pippa pressed into her side as teenagers, the two of them sardined together in Hecate’s bed, huddled under a blanket, a shared textbook propped up on their knees between them. Hecate was taller now, and Pippa had grown rounder, softer with the years, but the feeling was just the same.

They had, indeed, taken their time. Had eased back into friendship where they had once jumped in feet first. Had taken halting, hesitant steps toward acknowledging, at last, that they had never quite let go of the love they had shared so many years ago. Had approached their relationship as a clean slate, as best they could; tried not to let the past, good or bad, build it into something it was never meant to be.

And the result, despite Hecate’s worst fears, had been something better, stronger and more stable and far more honest than it had ever been before.

Something, she thought, she hoped, she truly believed, that was built to last, this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on Tumblr @ thebestdressedrebelinhistory


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